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It stands as the greatest appearance in cinematic history – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, new to the job, must walk the line of detention units until she reaches Dr. Lecter's secure glass tank. The man is present, appearing as a living skull exuding demonic evil, chillingly static clad in a tight blue inmate uniform. He stands frozen before suddenly he propels himself against the glass, emitting that unforgettable spitting-growling noise. Countless real-crime films have since revealed that actual serial killers are often very boring, lacking anything like Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer at the time he got that Oscar-winning role in the iconic film in 1989: he was already established, instead, a superstar emerged. The character of Hannibal was based, Hopkins notes with amusement in his latest book, from Lugosi's Dracula, on Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and also from his strictly demanding drama teacher his instructor Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect within the narrative; a sore point for the actor, who further explains how his portrayal of Lear was subconsciously influenced by deep-seated remorse regarding his daughter Abigail, the estranged daughter from his failed first union back in 1966 to Petronella Barker, who resented him being away and his drinking habits.

The book's name comes from an old wartime photo of a young Hopkins playing on the sand with his father – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He was a bewildered, isolated and sensitive child from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player in this story: a baker and man's man, a straightforward talker who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers at the church and refused to expressing his feelings, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. His father who was angered by how they were forced cap-in-hand to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew the famous Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he raves during the car ride. “We are all expecting handouts! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. He was a poor student at his new school. But one day in a literature class he was required to perform the verse by John Masefield The West Wind – without seeing it first – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and his classmates. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, launched him. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, went into acting, and shocking his family, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time there were grants to attend Rada – a path to success for working-class actors. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed of Anthony's global success: on asking his son to deliver the Yorick lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then went into another room and wept openly.

As for the hot-tempered, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but stumbled upon an excellent television part as a potential war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, which he liked more over theater. And he quit booze during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and so survived into his later years to execute great performances, including Lecter, the steward Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his second Academy Award.

In the later sections of the book he appears more reserved, more studied. Some of the anecdotage aren't entirely successful. He recalls being taken out to lunch alongside his cast mate in the film Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the opportunity for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star of Scorsese's Goodfellas? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with the director's criticism of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Really?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who maintains it is one's responsibility to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and get on with it. Absolutely. But he also recounts facing a rude director who'd made a young extra cry: “Say sorry to her! And acquire some decency. You ever do that again in front of me, I'll change the shape of your face! Hopkins sounds like an individual who stopped drinking but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. An actor of his caliber is aware of Cornwall's lines on Kent in King Lear: “He is incapable of flattery! A straightforward and sincere nature – he is compelled to be honest!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply